Review Summary: Men...
I’ve found myself in a bit of a lull recently with my usual appreciation of doom metal. Several times, a widely-praised release in the genre will come out, I’ll check it, think, “
hey, this is pretty good”, and then move on with no desire to ever return to it. The same goes for my old favorites in the style, they simply haven’t been anywhere near the top of the queue for me to revisit lately. Fortunately, this malaise seems to be more of a coincidence than a permanent loss of interest in the ways of doom, given how many times I’ve been replaying Hamferd’s third album.
Doom metal records often aspire to distinguish themselves by going to the extremes - crazy long tracks, ridiculously slow tempos, absurdly brutal riffage, etc. In that sense,
Men Guðs Hond Er Sterk is distinctive in its propensity for balance. You’ll find both thunderous death growls and soaring clean vocals, each utilized wonderfully, while songs range broadly from the pummeling m/m/m/ opening of “Ábær” to sorrowful chorus of “Marrusorg” (one of the catchiest things I’ve heard in the genre) to the the smooth melancholia of “Glæman”. The tunes never feel complacently straightforward, but not a single track reaches anywhere near the ten minute mark, and the album as a whole is extremely listenable in any mood. The consistent throughline is the atmosphere, which combines a sort of gloomy beauty with an ill-concealed lurking menace.
That description of the record’s feel brings us to Hamferd’s other primary strength here - the band’s embrace of their distinctive heritage. The musicians hail from the Faroe Islands, a rocky archipelago far from the mainland in the northern latitudes of the Atlantic. While I’ve never visited, the album’s vibe feels fitting given that context - a combination of their homeland’s Nordic roots (pretty metal to begin with), the band members’ presence within a small population in an extremely isolated locale, and their recognition of life as a precarious existence at the mercy of cold, sea, and storms. All told, a pretty compelling backstory. The closing title track brings that point home as a moody folk piece featuring dour spoken-word narration. I can’t understand the Faroese lyrics, but that’s almost besides the point, as even in that unknowing the track feels as utterly harsh and unforgiving as the album’s themes more generally. Perfectly suitable.
